


New Hands for New Homes

by Ellie_East



Category: The 100
Genre: Cuddling, Dear god I hope this is PC, Demisexual!Murphy, Dressing, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Sensual Relationship, baths, what are tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie_East/pseuds/Ellie_East
Summary: When Murphy starts to transition into a more demisexual spectrum as his long term relationship with Bellamy chases away the demons of his past the pair begin to rediscover what love, lust and life all seems to be about.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO MY LOVELIES! I have been working on this beast for god knows how long now and I am so happy to finally get it out to you! It's based off of one of my requested Murphamy headcanons which you can find at flip-it-delinquent-style.tumblr.com so please enjoy the fic while I go back to my other stuff!! Sorry for any mistakes and I seriously hope this is in no way offensive to anyone! If it is please, please, please let me know either here or on tumblr! Happy readings!

Murphy has never really been a fan of touching. At first he thought it was a result of the total fuckery that was his abuse filled childhood, and quite rightly at that. But then a whole lot of teenage experimenting and inquisition into what he was like as a kid _before_ his life went to shit revealed he's always been like that. It's just a part of who he is.

Of course, it always made dating that bit harder. Emori and Mbege never really could wrap their heads around it. When he didn't touch them they'd get upset and when he did they would say he was "forcing it", whatever the fuck that meant.

At least now they're two of the greatest friends he's ever had, not that thats saying all that much. It's just so much easier to be friends with them and yes, love them from a comfortable one metre intimate friend social bubble.

He could have been happy with either of them if he changed. But John Murphy wasn't made to change and he certainly wasn't made to be happy. Sure, the break ups stung a little, but Murphy's a survivor.

  
Or at least that's what Murphy thought about himself until Bellamy Blake had to come and fuck it all up.

Murphy loves Bellamy, and not in the way he loves his friends. He loves the crinkles around his smile. He loves the tone of his voice when he mutters along to his favourite lines in movies. He loves to watch his hands as they slice tomatoes. He loves to watch his back flex as he stretches every morning. He loves pretending he can hear that quick mind working through puzzles. He loves his explosive outbursts of anger and jealousy. He loves every last part of him. Even the majorly shitty bits.

And somehow, upon some innate alignment of the stars, Bellamy loves him back. He even fucking accepts the no touch thing with open arms. Well, figuratively anyway. Even when Murphy shifted to a little touch here and there he still didn't care.

They've been dating for three whole years and things are starting to...change. Of course, as aforementioned, Murphy isn't one for change.

But then again he also said he wasn't one for being happy and...look at him now.

Now, Murphy slides his hand into the pronounced dip of Bellamy's back as they walk side by side because it fills his heart with this terrifying pride. A pride thats born of the fact that of all the people in the world, out of every last one of them, Bellamy chose him.

Some of their touches have even become traditions. Like Bellamy resting his hand on the side of the Rovers passenger seat so whenever Murphy shifts gears, their hands brush. Or Murphy balancing on the tops of Bellamy's feet to avoid the cold hardwood floors as he makes them Sunday banana pancakes.

Then there's some of the more unexpected haphazard clashes.

Like that one time Murphy stormed in from work, a huff of scrubs and papers, and plonked himself right into Bellamy's lap. Bellamy didn't say anything, even as Murphy's smaller frame started shaking with the effort to breathe and hot tears seeped into his shirt.

Murphy loves it. He never thought he would, but it's sort of like after every time he touches Bellamy, his fingertips leave soft traces of light just under his boyfriends tanned skin.

So he does it more.

~

Bellamy loves Murphy. He loves the beanies he wears to keep his ears warm. He loves the way his lower lip juts out whenever he's mad. He loves the way he'll stand inches from Bellamy's nose and just stare at him without even realising he's doing it.

He's never been bothered about wether they touch or not. He didn't fall in love with Murphy because of the way he touched him. He fell in love with Murphy for 101 other reasons that he could rewrite everyday for the rest of his life. It's not as if the subtle little touches were a big change for him, just a welcomed surprise. He loves touching Murphy and he loves not touching Murphy. It's a simple as that.

But then all of a sudden it isn't.

Then the touches...change.

Not in a bad way of course, they just seem to be...filled with this static charge and Bellamy can't tell if it's the touch itself or the way those electric blue eyes linger on his skin afterwards that causes it.

Of course Murphy is oblivious to the effect he's having.

He does things like tap into the most primal part of Bellamy by jimmying his way under his hunky arm in crowded bars to avoid touching the people pressed around them. It's one: the notion of protecting Murphy from something he can't help himself and two: knowing that he's needed and chosen above all others to do the task. It sounds stupid, yes but...it's just how Bellamy's brain works.

Then there was the time Murphy kissed his cheek in front of everyone, mumbled "cute freckles asshole" and continued on like nothing ever happened.

The final straw comes when Bellamy's marking his course assignments for the semester.

Of course Murphy would have no idea how much Bellamy loves his head being massaged. The fact he's been stressing so much only makes it twice as excruciatingly blissful for the poor professor.

It's such a mindless, innocent act but he waddles up behind Bellamy to peer over his shoulder, like some inevitable magnetic pull his fingers are soon buried in Bellamy's thick brown curls and effortlessly kneading away every last bit of tension from the past few days.

He even pushes Bellamy's glasses up to heavenly scratch at the indent the tight arms leave right above his ears.

Murphy stands and obliviously kneads at his scalp for a solid five minutes after Bellamy's marking pen slides from his loose grip and his eyes have fallen shut. Then he steps back and actually fucking _giggles_ at the mess he's made of his boyfriends hair before he runs off.

Bellamy needs help and a brisk cold shower...just maybe not in that order.

~

"So he's sick?" Monty's crackly voice sounds over the phone shoved betweens Bellamy ear and shoulder.

"What? No. No," Bellamy pathetically sighs back, shifting the knife in his right hand so he can properly angle the onion he's cutting to the blade like his mother taught him.

He has no idea how he's meant to tell one of his closest friends that he's having problems keeping his little guy _down_ every time his boyfriend touches him because it's in no way been a problem he's had before with any of his old partners and probably isn't something a normal couple comes across.

"You said he's acting **_off_** Bellamy," Monty sighs back, obviously over Bellamy's confused grumblings of the past five minutes they've been on this call.

"Look," the tired man says after a few deep breathes, "it's an...a-sexual thing...I think."

Suddenly the line is worryingly silent.

"Monty?" Bellamy swears to god, if Monty just hung up on him.

"Okay...I think I know what this is." The line crackles for a moment as he takes in a deep breath. "He's probably just becoming more comfortable with physical contact since you've been together for so long now. He loves you, and he probably hasn't loved anyone in this way before. His subconscious might be wanting to move things along sensually, maybe even to a more demisexual scale, you know?"

Bellamy feels like he needs to go grab some pen and paper and a damn dictionary.

"No, not really," he sighs, giving up on the onions just in case he might actually start to damn cry and then god knows what Monty will think, "but I think I know what you're going to say next."

 ** _"Talk to hi_** ** _m_** , Bellamy. I mean it. He's probably just as confused as you are. Or will be soon enough. Just because no ones knows him better then you do doesn't mean you have to try and figure this out all by yourself."

"I was really wishing that wouldn't be the quick fix to all our problems," Bellamy huffs as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Monty chuckles back, knowing they’re the absolute worst when it comes to saying anything past _dickbag, pass the salt._

"Call me if you need me, but please just try and talk to the love of your life first?"

"Alright mate. Thanks."

~

The next night as Bellamy climbs under their sheets he can't help but feel his heart pounding against ribs and his stomach twisting in knots and ties.

His boyfriends lies just on the opposite set of pillows, as if he's some ghost in a different dimension that Bellamy can't quite reach.

"Murphy," he whispers as if saying it too loud might break his courage, "I want to talk about the touching thing."

He can practically feel Murphy's entire body tense through the mattress beneath him.

"Hey, woah no, relax." The professor quickly back pedals. "It's okay. I have no problem with it, remember?"

The words do nothing to relax Murphy in the slightest. He staring at the ceiling like it just might be the last thing he wants to see before it all comes crashing down on his head. The kind of crash that splits skulls and cracks bones.

So, Bellamy chooses his next words very carefully.

"I love you, Murphy. Whether you touch me or not. I just think we should talk about how you've been...more open to it recently."

"Oh..." a loud click breaks the tense pause as Bellamy watches Murphy's Adam's apple bob down in the dim light of the room. Then another as he slowly turns to his torso to face the curly haired man, setting off a spring beneath his lithe figure.

They stay like that for a moment, taking their time to find each other's eyes in the soft street lamp haze.

"I honestly hadn't realised," Murphy huffs but the wide set of his eyes say he finds the thought more daunting then humorous.

"Do you not enjoy doing it?" Bellamy quietly asks, not taking his piercing brown eyes away from Murphy's contemplative features for a second. If anything, he's glad Murphy is actually thinking over it before blurting out the first thing that comes to his mind.

"I do. More than I ever have before..." The 'and it scares me' goes unspoken but Bellamy can see it in the faint crease above his boyfriend’s nose.

"That's not... a bad thing though right?" The darker of the pair half jokes, suddenly a little worried, he forces a smile.

"No. No, not at all." This time Murphy doesn't take his time to think over his answer, yet the words are so genuine they resonate with Bellamy's entire rib cage.

Fuck.

"It feels...natural I guess." The smaller man continues, suddenly dropping his eyes away from the others intense gaze. He starts to play with the small bit of fabrics jutting between them, nervously clenching and unclenching his fingers.

At this point neither of them have noticed just how much they've shifted towards each other, now close enough that the afterthought of their breaths mingle between them.

"Well," Bellamy whispers it as if it may be the only secret he's told in his life, "I think you should keep doing whatever feels natures then."

Then, after a few ringing moment of silence, Murphy is scooting so close he can feel the heat radiating off the front of Bellamy's chest.

With the sort of vulnerability you could only show to the stars that light up your sky, one of Murphy's deviously fragile hands creeps from out of the covers to firmly plant itself directly over Bellamy's galloping heart.

It's times like these Bellamy wishes he had a rewind button. Then he could watch the way Murphy's lips fall open and eyes flutter shut as his cold fingers meet Bellamy's flushed chest a million times over.

"Th-this does." Murphy breathes as he lightly pushes his hand foreword and is pleasantly surprised at how Bellamy doesn't even move a mere inch, all instinctively flexing muscle. Jesus, the guy is built like a solid brick wall and Murphy is really only just noticing how much Bellamy vanishes to the gym each week.

The curly haired man has to physically smush his face into his pillow to stop himself from squealing like a little school girl over just how fucking adorable Murphy's content, if not a little smug, smile is.


	2. Chapter 2

He gives Murphy space to think.

He lets the other man lie next to him on the couch and gaze at him for hours on end.

He lets him trace words and patterns over his wrists as they fall asleep.

He lets him follow his hands with his own figures as he scribbles notes.

They build their way up ever day and Bellamy can't help but feel proud of his boyfriend.

He also lets Murphy bounce ideas off him, and that may be his favourite thing in the entire world. Not because of the content per se but more because Murphy trusts him enough to confide in him.

The first idea comes from a dream Murphy has right before waking up, apparently, and it's one he can't wait to do.

One sluggish Monday morning, Bellamy blinks his eyes open to the sight of exposed pale thighs right by his turned head. Murphy, half dressed in one of his favourite oversized black sweaters and messy locks flopped just behind one of his ear is eagerly standing over him with a steaming mug in his hand.

"Can we try something?" He timidly asks, a thumb coming up to meet his gnawing teeth.

"Sure," Bellamy tries to smiles softly through his groggy state as he lifts himself onto his elbows. He really doesn't want to know how long Murphy was standing there waiting for hi to wake up.

"Go have your shower and eat some breakfast. I'm gonna pick what you wear today." Is all Murphy says around his thumb before he's shoving the fresh coffee under his boyfriends nose.

Bellamy doesn't hesitate to accept the mug and climb out of the bed. Before he pads his way across the room however, very gently tugs on the sleeve of Murphy's sweater to remind him he shouldn't bite his nails.

~

Bellamy showers and scoffs down his toast in record time, his stomach fluttering the whole tone like he's just a teenager all over again.

He doesn't expect something extravagant. Even if it just Murphy picking his clothes and watching him put them on he'd be more than happy to oblige.

It's never been about the touching. It's always just been about Murphy.

There's something about the way Murphy pours every ounce of his attention into watching Bellamy do the simplest of tasks that makes him feel more alive then he's ever known. So yeah, eventually getting touched like that is an added bonus.

By the time his damp hair is lightly bouncing back into its hapless curls and his stomach is stuffed full, Murphy has neatly laid out his choices across their sheets.

Seeing Murphy do anything neatly sets off little alarms in the back of Bellamy's head so he hesitates. He isn't stepping into this unless Murphy is 100% sure he wants this.

"Come here," Murphy quickly huffs, picking up on Bellamy's hesitant energy and waving him away from the door frame nonchalantly.

"What are we doing?" Bellamy asks as he comes to a stop next to the man with three long strides. As always, he hangs just on the edge of his boyfriends personal space, letting him decide if he wants to lessen the gap or not.

"I'm going to dress you." Murphy declares, his chest puffing a little indignantly but Bellamy can see the hesitation lacing his shoulders.

"You are? Well, better make it quick. Lectures to teach, remember?" He teases as Murphy gives a sideways glare. "So what's first?"

"Socks." Murphy says, more than a little smug at how Bellamy's grin falters.

"I should probably get some underwear on before we start." Bellamy offers with a quirk of his eyebrows. "I mean I don't mind working in a fluffy towel but maybe going commando might not work so well with the whole podium thing."

This time its Murphy who draws a blank, his cheeks turning the lightest shade of rose pink.

"I've got it." Bellamy chuckles, taking a step toward their shared dresser. He can practically hear Murphy cursing to himself as he turns his back and quickly shucks his towel off.

"Seriously," Murphy deadpans as his boyfriend finally spins back around and triumphantly clears his throat, "you're going to ruin my outfit with the yoshi pair."

"Don't judge my artistic choices," is Bellamy's smug reply as he once again moves to stand at Murphy's elbow.

Murphy really does start with his socks, getting down on one knee at Bellamy's feet to slide the soft black cotton over his heels.

Bellamy especially likes the way his long fingers wrap around each ankle and holds it tightly to ensure Bellamy doesn't unbalance. Not that he would of course, but it's a move worth noting.

Next is a pair of dark grey slacks, tightly fitted around Bellamy's thighs and ass as per Clarke and Raven's strict shopping instructions.

He really only saves the pair for his first year introductions but they'll do for today.

What? He's allowed to like some attention now and then.

"I knew you would pick these." He teases as he tries to hide the fact he's debating wether he should rest his hand on Murphy's slender back.

In the end he just leaves it hovering their awkwardly, momentarily lost in the way scar littered hands pull the fabric up each leg.

Murphy finally stands again, his eyes intently fixed on using the belt loops to ease the soft fabric up over the other mans thighs and hips so Bellamy lets his fall shut.

He's so caught up in his thoughts, or really lack of any at all as he tries to keep his breathing steady, he doesn't notice Murphy's seized up in front him till the man finally speaks up. He's much closer than Bellamy originally thought and he can feel his frustrated sigh ghost over his collarbone.

"Yoshi is staring at me." Murphy mumbles, lightly digging his finger into a patch of sunlight hitting Bellamy's side.

"What?" Bellamy deadpans, finally letting his eyes fall down to those blue orbs again. If anyone knows how to ruin one of Bellamy's deep poetic moments it's his floppy haired boyfriend.

"Yoshi. He's just right there looking at me with those judgy little eyes."

Bellamy starting to get a little worried for his boyfriends sanity.

"I don't think my underpants are judging you." He tries and fails to bite back a grin at the man standing in front of him.

"Well," Murphy mutters, thumping his head onto Bellamy's chest, "they are. They're saying just fucking do his pants up already you useless piece of-"

"Murph," Bellamy snaps, his voice that deep tone that always pulls Murphy back from the darker corners of his mind, "I got it."

"No," Murphy quickly interrupts, pushing off of Bellamy's chest, his eyes determinedly glaring Bellamy's crotch down, "I do."

With tremoring hands, he slowly trails his fingertips from the sensitive dip of Bellamy's hip bones to where the fluro green band of his, now regrettable, underwear choice meets his unbuttoned pants.

Deft fingers work up his zip and button and Bellamy gets the impression that really wasn't as hard for Murphy as it was for him. Picturing the green character's chubby face is really helping with that one.

"That alright?" Bellamy asks softly, even though he already knows what Murphy's answer will be.

"Shut up," Murphy all but growls as he determinedly reaches out for Bellamy's pristine white undershirt, "and arms out."

"What, not up? Cant you reach?" Bellamy mutters, a cheeky smirk playing over his lips even as he's does what's he's told. Murphy gives him his best bitch face as he manoeuvres the fabric around his boyfriends thick arms.

Then, all traces of smugness are gone as in one fluid motion Murphy loops the v-neck up over Bellamy's head and takes a cautious step into his extended arms. He slowly pulls the singlet down his curved back, his fingertips brushing the muscly ridges as he goes.

All Bellamy can really see at this point is the sharp edges of Murphy's profile but it's worth it for the way the smaller mans deep pine cologne fills his open mouth and nose.

They swallow in time, making the briefest of eye contact before Murphy's cheeks flush pink and he darts his gaze away.

As he turns back around, Murphy takes a moment, just looking down at the final piece of clothing clutched in his hands.

Bellamy patiently stands to the side of course, waiting for the okay to continue.

"Here," Murphy finally breathes as he bunches the bottom of Bellamy's favourite dark blue sweater in his thin hands.

The taller man slides his arms up into the warm wool, his hands just brushing the bottom hem of Murphy's jumper as they emerge out the of the sleeves.

He's careful to keep his eyes on Murphy's features as he does so. The fact Murphy is so focused on staring at a single point on his chest could either be a very good or very bad thing. Yet, before Bellamy has a chance to stop him, Murphy is once again pulling the fabric over his head, this time getting his crown momentarily stuck in the collar as he distracted by the feeling of his exposed thighs brushing against Bellamy's pants.

Bellamy however, isn't so impressed and voices said opinion loudly around a mouthful of wool.

It makes up for it when a small huff of muffled laughter comes right through the fabric and tickles Bellamy's cheeks. That however, doesn't prepare him for just how close those electric blue eyes are when the sweater is pulled down from his face.

"Hi," he happily murmurs as Murphy seems to slip impossibly closer to secure the sweater down over his hips and back.

"You're a dork," Murphy groans as he lets his head fall with a light thud into the jut of Bellamy's collarbone.

He stays like that for the count of twenty two heartbeats, his hair tickling Bellamy's jaw and hands searching around on the duvet behind the other mans back.

"Last thing," Murphy sighs and it isn't until Bellamy hears the clink of his belt that he realises where Murphy's going next. He wants to say you can stop if you like but something in the way Murphy determinedly pushes his forehead against his bone kills the words in his throat.

Bellamy tilts his head back slightly and squeezes his eyes shut as Murphy guides the belt through the first loop. At first his movements are semi hurried and feather light all at once but with every new loop, his fingers become that little bit steadier. The tug of each pull brings Murphy closer and soon enough his entire front is pressed up against Bellamy. It does strange things to Bellamy's stomach but he fights the urge to laugh at how god damn weird it is that putting on a belt is doing so much for him.

As Murphy reaches the loop just below the dip of Bellamy's back, an adventurous thumb lightly sweeps up under his shirts. It soon finds the indent of his spine leaving a trial of goosebumps in its wake.

By the time Murphy gets to the last loop he's moving so slowly, his fingers just brushing the skin above Bellamy's hip bones. The older of the two feels like he could fall asleep or run a million miles at any second.

"Oh..." Murphy mutters as he seems to come back to reality too. His eyes instantly drawn to the rather prominent bulge over the front of Bellamy's slacks that's pressing right into the dip of his hip.

"Sorry..." Bellamy chuckles, watching as it puffs up a strand of Murphy's hair, "you're just...you."

"It's alright." Murphy breathes, finally tilting his head back to meet Bellamy's gaze through thick lashes.

"Not helping." Bellamy groans as Murphy reaches foreword to buckle his belt securely through itself, a smug smile plaguing his features.

"Your shoes are out in the foyer and I can't be fucked to walk out there half naked." Murphy casually states, taking a few seconds to find where he feels most comfortable resting his hands on Bellamy's hip before deciding on sliding two fingers from each hand through his outer belt loops.

He lightly tugs them forward and Bellamy sways with it, his clothed cock twitching as it presses into Murphy's hip even harder.

"It's alright," Bellamy echoes breathlessly then swallows past the forming lump in his throat. He shakes his head lightly, as if to clear it.

After a few more moments of trying to catch his uneven breath and letting Murphy sway him back and forth, he gently taps his knuckles over Murphy's thumbs.

"Get back in bed." His voice is so deep and raspy it surprises him even a little.

The shorter man gives him a half smug, half pleased smile as he detangles his fingers from the slacks and steps back. Bellamy doesn't miss the way Murphy shivers at the sudden loss of heat so he cocks his head toward the bed and refuses to move till the other man has crawled back between the sheets.

Bellamy's pleasantly surprised as Murphy's stays curled up on his side, shoving his face into Bellamy's rumpled pillow.

"Aren't you late now?" Murphy pokes, flinging one spindly pale leg over their top blanket.

"Only by about 20 minutes." Bellamy retorts, shoving his dark blue sleeves up over his elbows and easing over to the dresser to clip on his favourite watch.

"Well get the the fuck out then." Murphy drawls, making to throw a pillow at his boyfriends retreating figure.

"Love you too, dickbag." Bellamy calls as he flees from the room, haphazardly dodging a wild pillow and grabbing his satchel from his desk as he goes.

"I’ll make it forty tomorrow!" Is the malice reply, "I wanna take more time looking!"


	3. Chapter 3

"This isn't working."

For the millionth time that night, Bellamy feels Murphy shift uncomfortably in his arms.

"New position?" He patiently mumbles into his boyfriends exposed shoulder. He should really wear stretchy cotton shirts more often.

"No, this is just fucking stupid." Murphy barks, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"You said it was important to you." Bellamy reiterates, his chest rumbling and eyes drooping with the long day.

"It's finding a comfy cuddle position, Bell, not brain surgery. I just can't do it." Murphy spits out, knowing Bellamy will trust the words are for wound he's long since picked open.

"What's uncomfortable about it?" Bellamy's deep voice seems to relax Murphy's back muscles a fraction, but the smaller man still dramatically huffs in his arms.

"My whole left side."

"Can I try something?" Bellamy mumbles, coming up to mindlessly brush his lips against the pillow by Murphy's ear.

"Be my guest." Is the sighed reply as Murphy goes completely limp in his boyfriend’s arms.

In one fluid motion, said large arms are wrapping under and around his torso, gently rolling him so he's eye level with a sharp collarbone then pulling him the last few inches up into Bellamy sternum.

"How's that?" Bellamy yawns, the sound rumbling through his chest up to the ear Murphy has pressed to skin.

Honestly, Bellamy's thick thighs and arms steadily holding Murphy in place while his hands trace noninvasive patterns right over the dip of his spine is doing wonders for Murphy's nerves as well as being the most comfortable position he's ever been in.

"Pretty fucking amazing."

"Not too hot?" Of course Bellamy would think to ask something like that.

"No," Murphy murmurs around the unexpected lump in his throat, "just right."

"Just watch my side. You got me with your elbow before."

"Good." Murphy chuckles, grateful for the easy bait Bellamy offered him, knowing it would help him escape his feelings.

"Dick." Is the reply, but it's said more to the top of Murphy's head then his boyfriend in general.

"Go the fuck to sleep already." Murphy mumbles, trying his hardest not to scratch his 5 o'clock shadow over Bellamy's sensitive freckled skin.

Murphy loses himself to the rhythm of Bellamy's deep breathing and falls asleep praying he never forgets what this feels like.

~

"What about," Murphy muses as he thumps the back of his heels onto the kitchen cupboard below him, "a shower together?"

"You sure?" Is Bellamy's wary reply from just down the counter.

"Yeah," Murphy softly chuckles as Bellamy tries to shove at least two containers worth of left over pasta into just one tiny plastic box.

"I mean, I'd love to," Bellamy says as he glares down at the overflowing Tupperware with what Murphy can only describe as his disappointed dad face, "but both of us being naked in such a cramped space is a bit of an ambitious leap, right?"

As Murphy considers it the taller of the pair, completely oblivious to his boyfriend's silent amusement, shoves his leftovers dilemma away with a huff.

"How about a bath instead?" Murphy asks as Bellamy finally turns to lean against the counter he's perched on.

"You hate baths," Bellamy hums as he reaches foreword to mindlessly play with the chord of Murphy's loose pajama pants, "you always bitch about it being bathing in your own filth."

The blue eyed boy suddenly finds the intricate lines of his palms very interesting.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "but you love them...and maybe I could finally wash your shaggy ass hair for you."

He can practically feel Bellamy's loaded gaze glide over his profile then down to where his Adam's apple bobs with an anxious swallow.

"Murphy," Bellamy states, his voice low but still commanding, he even goes so far as refusing to talk again until pale blue eyes are glued onto his. "That sounds amazing."

"Yeah?" Murphy breathes excitedly before he can stop himself, his teeth coming to bite at his lower lip immediately after the words have escaped.

"Yeah."

Bellamy's smirk lasts the whole way through Murphy rolling his eyes dramatically and recklessly yanking his boyfriend off to their ensuite.

~

"Is it hot enough?"

The pair are standing side by side as Bellamy reaches in to test the steaming water, careful not to get the cuff of his robe wet.

"It's perfect."

Murphy, on the other hand is still in his loose grey joggers and one of Bellamy's old UW sweat shirts. The giant sleeves are shoved up to his elbows in big puffy folds of fabric considering just how floppy it is on him since it's already a size or two too big for Bellamy.

"So am I just getting in?" Bellamy asks, an unspoken question hidden on his tongue.

With a quick quirk of his eyebrow, Murphy glances at the thin layer of fabric separating him and a Greek statue fit for the olympics like one would regard a pit of venomous snakes and a mouthwatering stake all at once.

This is going to get confusing real fast.

"Here, I got it." Ever so slowly, the smaller man loosens his tight grip on the high edge of the bath tub. Cautiously, as if a snake really might spring out at him any second, pun intended, he entwines the fluffy chords of a Bellamy's robe in his lithe fingers.

Murphy likes to pretend the small adorable gasp that escapes his lips never happened but Bellamy will always have it etched into the back of his mind.

Blue eyes widen impossibly as they watch the strong lines of Bellamy's arms and chest muscles work to manoeuvre his robe off broad shoulders. Yet, the sight of toned legs and ass climbing up over the tub edge proves that bit too much and Murphy quickly finds himself mouthing "fuck me" to the ceiling.

He really was right about the confused part because he can't tell if that's what he really wants or if it's just the dog part of his brain screaming "FUCK IT AND FUCK IT NOW YOU FOOL!" He really wished his Id had chosen a better time to make an appearance.

It doesn't help all that much when he finally looks back down at his boyfriend to find him splashing handfuls of soapy water over his face. If Murphy wasn't blushing before he knew what thick water droplets collecting in Bellamy's lashes and just under his chin looked like, his blood is certainly pumping now...and not just to his cheeks.

Wet facial features are turning Murphy on now. Great. What's next? The fucking spongebob loofa?

~

The next part comes much easier than Murphy expected. Bellamy manages to find a comfortable half sitting, half lying position against the tubs edge as Murphy manoeuvres himself into the surprisingly roomy corner by his boyfriend's head. The cuffs of Murphy's joggers and sweat shirt take a good minute to roll up before he can plunge his feet in the water right by Bellamy's quickly pinking skin.

The darker man silently sinks down into the soapy waves, sending Murphy one last comforting wink before submerging himself horizontally, just to the line of where his jaw meets his ear. His face is so blissful Murphy wants to run his fingers over Bellamy's closed eyelids. Maybe even resonate some of his calm up through Murphy's fingertips and into his shaking hands.

Instead, he plunges his trembling hands into the water before his brain can catch up with himself and change his mind. With the new angle comes a feeling like the steam blowing up out of the water is choking his lungs but he pushes through, knowing it's just nerves. The water lies just at the edge of scolding but he couldn't care less as he cautiously runs his fingers through Bellamy's locks.  
Seriously, his hair is as soft as down feathers under water. Murphy's going to take his sweet time with this.

They stay like that for a good few minutes. Bellamy floating with ease as Murphy chases the knots in his unruly curls and memorises his boyfriend's strong features all over again. The amount of times Murphy has fallen for Bellamy's nose is unfair...all he wants to do these days is kiss it. And that scares him. A lot. He wants to plant one right on the tip of Bellamy's button-like feature. No, he doesn't just want to. He's going to.

But this time he doesn't charge all in. He takes his time. He drags in two deep breathes and repositions his hands to better still the slightly swaying man below him. It seems as if the tiny ripples below him decide to mimic his slow motions as he ease his way down.

The kiss is as long as is it is graceful...which isn't all that much. The angle is a bit strange and it leaves his lips tingly with surprise at how warm Bellamy's skin is. When Bellamy's eyes blink open to find Murphy's face hovering inches right above his, he gasps at the younger boys breath tickling the water droplets collecting by his cheek bones. With a soft smile Bellamy slowly cranes his neck foreword to press his lips just on the edge of Murphy's nose too.

Murphy doesn't know if he should laugh or cry. Doesn't know if he found that reciprocation painfully adorable or just plain agonising since he doesn't know if Bellamy is overthinking that slight action as much as he is. Yet, as he draws back the sudden worry about not knowing how to feel ebbs away as Bellamy sits up after him. Not to chase him or enter his personal space bubble, but to bring his know drenched hair out of the water and hand Murphy his favourite shampoo.

"You good?" Bellamy rumbles, his voice suddenly like thunder in the silent chamber, even though it couldn't have been above a whisper.

Murphy just happily hums in the back of his throat as he pours all his concentration into getting the exact right amount of product onto his hand. If he's being honest, this is Murphy's favourite shampoo too. Not because it has any distinguishable fragrance, it's merely the best for massaging it into the scalp or whatever the fuck the back of the bottle says. All the two men know is that it tingles like a mother fucker and feels like squidgy lube in your palm.

"Head back," Murphy says as he rubs the lotion around the insides of his hands. He knows he's probably weirding Bellamy out with just how quiet he's being. But Murphy doesnt want to talk. He's almost scared to. Like whatever he'll say will ultimately ruin this moment because he's one part a nervous wreck as always, one part turned on for the first time in forever, one part over the moon with joy at what his life is now and finally one part high on the 'essential oils' concoction Monty's insisted Bellamy's uses in his bath.

Murphys was so lost in his train of thought there he didn't really know how long he'd been smoothing his fingers through Bellamy's hair. The curly head is sort of becoming a dead weight in his hands so he gently moves one hand up to smooth a few strands away from his boyfriend’s eyes.

"Ready?" He softly asks, positioning his hand to guide Bellamy's head under the steaming water.

"Please don't drown me," is the only reply he gets before Bellamy is taking in a large breath and letting Murphy push him down.

~

They continue the same proceedure with the conditioner. This one certainly has a distinct smell however. A deep citrus that clings to their pillows and hugs Murphy's mushy romantic side when Bellamy squeezes him tightly.

Murphy ends up enjoying kneading the knots out of the base of Bellamy's skull and pushing toxins away from his sinuses so much he washes his hair a full second time over.

The water has shifted to a Luke warm and cloudy with product by the time Murhpy’s satisfied with his work and Bellamy is officially so blissed out he seems to have forgotten what both words and opening his eyes are.

"We are so doing this again," he eventually murmurs as Murphy chuckles above him and gently draws out of the tub.


	4. Chapter 4

Murphy is having some issues adjusting to the shift in their relationship and Bellamy can tell. Of course, Murphy thinks he's stumbling around with no idea but Bellamy can always tell. He tried to bring it up once...so to speak but Murphy was out of the room faster than the speed of light.

The thing is, Murphy's having trouble controlling a few of his...urges...in the downstairs compartment. The whole thing is ridiculous really. They're two grown men who've both been through many a boners in their lives. Fuck, puberty was hard enough for both of them without Bellamy questioning the whole girls and guys thing and Murphy fretting over being a possible sociopath who isn't endeared by affectionate human contact. Yet, maybe that's reading a little too deep into things. It's just...

It's just that really. Murphy feels like a bumbling fifteen year old kid again that can't go a single day without...his little friend making an appearance at least once or twice at the worst possible moments.

All it takes is for Bellamy to fucking say the word "throttle" and suddenly he has to excuse himself out of Raven's workshop for five minutes to just breathe.

The little shit even started humming in the middle of a movie theatre line the other day and Murphy ended up practically glueing himself to the wall before they could get into the safe darkness of a Quentin Tarantino gore fest. That didn't work to kill Murphy's problem as fast as he hoped however and that just escalated the problem to new heights. Literally.

The final straw came one morning when the man dropped a stack of his papers right as he got out of Murphy's car. It wasn't just Murphy enjoying that picture either as not doubt many of Bellamy's students practically stopped in their tracks to get a good show at Bellamy's favourite pants.

Bellamy wishes he could say he didn't chuckle under his breath as his red faced boyfriend sped out of the carpark without so much as a word goodbye. He didn't plan to drop that many of them, he just over estimated how big his...stack was. Paybacks a bitch anyway.

~

It all comes to a boiling point when Bellamy leaves for a work seminar in Washington. The second his boyfriend’s ass it out the door, Murphy's whole skin lights up like a match. By the second night he's on edge. As in he literally feels like he's about to fall off a ten foot drop.

He's biting his lip profusely, barely able to sit down for more than five minutes and above all he's so damn turned on with no idea what to do it'll be the end of him. Bellamy is nowhere to be seen and Murphy just can't stop fucking thinking about him. His voice echoes across the empty bedroom. Far away hands phantom over Murphy's resting head. His boyfriends laugh is all but soaked in the pillow he's about to scream into.

It's about then that Murphy decides the internet is his friend.

~

The asexual help blogs are perfect, don't get Murphy wrong. But as he sits curled up in a bed far too big for its own good in only one of Bellamy's overstretched forest green tshirts and his light grey happy pants, he needs more. The information on them about all the different types of sexualities and genders and identities is fascinating and definitely something Murphy wants to come back to.

Yet, nothing is really sticking with his current...predicament. So before he knows it, the lonely man has a pushy hand shoved down his pants and his eyes squeezed shut so tight he's just about seeing stars. needless to say, it doesn't really give him any release since every time he actually tries to touch himself he instantly loses some of his steam, only for Bellamy to float back into his mind and heat him up all over again.

Googling porn for asexuals is both a useless and horrific endeavour. There's only so many times you can look at a yahoo answer saying "but they don't exist anyway, so what's the point?" before you start feeling like a damn extinct unicorn for fucks sake.

So, before Murphy knows it, his phone is clutched in his hand and he's completely forgetting what time zones are.

Bellamy picks up on the third ring.

~

All it takes is a single word, one word in that deep tone, gruff from sleep and Murphy feels like he might just faint. He almost misses his boyfriends actual words because of it.

"Please tell me you’re not dying." Murphy doesn't want to think about how that only makes him harder. He should really reply now.

Three minutes later and Murphy still hasn't said anything.

"Murph? You there?"

Murphy forces himself to swallow before he even tries to get a shaky word out.

"...y-yeah." It really didn't make a difference. He sounds like he just ran a marathon for gods sake.

Across the line Murphy can hear the drag of Bellamy pushing his sheets away as he sits up abruptly.

"What's wrong?" His boyfriends voice is thick with worry now, all traces of grogginess gone. "Are you hurt?"

"No, no," Murphy stutters out and even he admits it isn't all that convincing, "I just..."

The silence that follows feels heavier then a drenched wool blanket. Maybe Murphy should just hang up and move to Bali so he never has to explain whatever the hell this is to Bellamy.

"Just?" Bellamy echoes, a hint of a smile in his voice that makes Murphy reconsider the Bali plan. Just.

"I just miss you." There. He's fucking said it now. He can't take it back. It's just done. So he holds his breath and waits.

He's about three seconds from passing out when the silence from half way around the country breaks.

"Murph." And there it is. That deep Bellamy drawl that he's been craving so damn badly. Past the point of light headed now, Murphy can only curl into a ball around Bellamy's pillow and breathe.

"Fuck," the word practically punches itself out of his chest and hear only just makes out Bellamy's sharp intake of breathe.

"Murphy?" The shift in his boyfriends tone be is heartbreaking. He knows exactly what state Murphy is in, he's just having trouble believing it. In all fairness, Murphy is too here.

"Just-" Murphy begins but the neediness in it makes him so suddenly furious he has to swallow and start again, "just do me a favour and keep talking."

There's shuffling over the phone Murphy has pressed to his ear like Bellamy is repositioning himself. Murphy can practically picture exactly how he'll be lounging against the headboard, legs sprawled out in front of him carelessly. That's about when Murphy bucks into the pillow shoved under him with a low groan.

Bellamy's started to say something but Murphys too focused on trying to get the blood back to his actual head to listen. He has no idea what he'd actually do with Bellamy if he was with there. It would just be...something.

"Murphy?" Bellamy tries again, this time a bit harsher so Murphy has to pay attention, "what am I supposed to talk about."

The demanding side to his voice is lost to the underlying heat that tugs at Murphy's stomach till it does a reluctant flip.

There's a slight clicking sound over Bellamy's earpiece so he imagines it's the cogs in Murphy's apparently disoriented Brian churning.

"Read me your presentation."

Now that's four whispered words Bellamy thought he'd never hear in his entire life. Probably not just from anyone outside of the historical literature field then Murphy alone.

"...alright, give me a second." Bellamy tentacular leaves his phone perched in a hotel pillow as he fetches his mac from across the room.

~

Three hours later, unbeknownst to the pair, they each sprawl over their respective beds half way across the country in their favourite cuddling position.

Bellamy's eyes have been closed for almost a half hour now, but he's awake enough to pay attention to his boyfriend's rambling nonsense. Just.

"I swear if you ever gave your presentation like that to a real cohort of students they'd be falling over each other to propose to you." Honestly, Murphy can think of a few more obscene things they might end up doing like he was only fourth minutes. He doesn't think Bellamy can handle it though.

It was hard enough to get him to stop dropping his phone like a bumbling fool every time Murphy actually started to jerk off properly.

Still, Bellamy served his purpose and with a particularly hoarse moan about the prospect of just how much Alexander loved Helios, Murphy was crashing over the edge. No really. He fell of the side of their bed. Took the whole mattress with him.

Murphy always suspected Bellamy had a thing for the whole ancient world homosexual discourses, he just never thought he'd finish to a Macedonian wrestling fantasy himself.

Let alone "finish" in anyway again. Why does everything have to be so damn hard all the time?

One last time, pun intended.

~

Now, in the past few months Bellamy has grown used to the feel of John Murphy's lips again. Just. They certainly kissed before all this started. Little chaste chases on lazy Sundays or tipsy Fridays. Hell, when thy first stated to date they definitely made out once or twice. But back then Murphy never seemed...into it for lack of a better word. Bellamy could tell Murphy liked him and they had a spark but the man became so detached whenever they started to get physical. Bellamy hated it, and not the awkward contact or the prospect of a shitty sex life. He hated that Murphy was unhappy.

So when Bellamy all but pried the kids metaphorical sternum open and coaxed out every last tortured memory and reasoning to dislike touch, he felt nothing but relief. Well he felt devastated for Murphy of course...and enraged at the world for what it's done to his he love of his life...and guilty he never worked out just how bad Murphy's life was before he walked into it- and okay he felt a lot of things but one thing he didn't care about was losing his sec life so Murphy could be happy.

Now coming back to the original point, Bellamy is used to Murphy's lips being a quick treat that's barely there long enough for him to realise it ever happened.

So the last thing the young professor expects as he steps through the airport terminal is Murphy crash tackling him, mouth first.

Okay, to be fair, it's far more graceful than that description. Murphy is all eager passion that set sBellamy's skin alight and adorable scrunched up eyelids that make Bellamy wonder just how long the other man has been psyching himself up to this.

The hundreds of thoughts that are currently gushing through his mind however, are soon melted away as a tentative tongue deepened their kiss.

  
Well then.

By the time the pair pull away, every last person in the airport terminal is gaffawing at them. Murphy sees look of adoration, jealousy, shock and yes the odd bit of hate. He snarls at the closest patron turning her nose up at him.

Bellamy on the other hand, is too busy staring at Murphy like he just flipped a light switch that winked the world into existence. The Blake is all dishevelled curls and crooked dorky glasses.

"Hmph," Murphy smirks at his handy work. He's still got it...even if his delivery is still a little rusty. "If you ever tell anyone I just did that I'll shut our bedroom window on your dick."

And with that's he's walking to the travelator like nothing ever happened, leaving a love struck Bellamy Blake in his wake.


	5. Chapter 5

Over the next weeks, their previous predicaments seem to reverse. Bellamy finds doing something as simple as looking at Murphy for too long next to impossible. It hadn't quite dawned on him just how long it's been since he last had sexual contact so to speak. They've been wandering into the sensual side of things of course but...

But no matter how hard the man tries he can't get Murphy's breathy over the phone moans out of his head. Honestly, if he sounded that amazing just imagining the accompanying visual leaves Bellamy lightheaded.

Needless to say, he finds the old "bathroom break" he's used over the years has become his new best friend.

Or at least it was till Murphy walked in on one.

~

If Bellamy wasn't currently mortified at the fact he just was caught whacking off like a fifteen year old into the sink, he'd burst out laughing at the sound Murphy just made.

Its almost as if a lemur was trodden on and then fell off a ten foot cliff. Or at least in Murphy's case back into their bedroom.

The urge to follow him is unbearable, yet Bellamy stays. After a few deep breathes, he swiftly shuts the bathroom door, steps into the shower and yanks on the cold tap. Murphy wasn't even supposed to be home for another four hours.

Brisk showers. Always do the trick.

Then, Bellamy waits. If Murphy wants to see him, he'll knock...or something. Yet after twenty minutes tick by without so much as a peep from the next room, Bellamy thinks he should go check Murphy didn't literally have a heart attack as he fell out of their bathroom.

Placing a timid hand on the door, Bellamy uses the other to push the already drying curls plastered to his forehead to the side. He can do this. This is a good thing. This another one of their steps foreword. Sure, its probably jumped them fifty yards further than Bellamy wanted them to be just yet but collateral damage is his thing god damnit. Even if he is usually the one to cause it. This is going to be a train wreck isn't it?

The door eases open to John Murphy once again doing the last thing Bellamy Blake expected. Then again he half expected him to be lying dead on the floor so this is good.

He's just...sitting. On the edge of their bed. With his yes squeezed shut. And...one of Bellamy's old sweaters on? The pieces begin to slot together. When Bellamy came home late he thought the lump under the covers was a pile of clothes Murphy had dumped there this morning. Especially since his boyfriend wasn't meant to finish till midnight. But it's Tuesday and Emori sometimes takes over Mbeges shift and if she does she shoos Murphy home to get a goods nights sleep...with a stomach full of Bellamy's bolongaise. His favourite. So naturally Murphy being the tantrum princess he is would have come home to an empty house and proceeded to tug on some of Bellamy's old clothes, huddle into bed and defiantly ignore him as he came home.

"Murph," Bellamy finally says, feeling more than a little guilty he didn't just text Murphy he'd be late like he usually would and they'd have avoided this mess. Then Bellamy's bathroom break could have been an office break and he wouldn't have gone and thrown Murphy so out of whack he's never going to touch him again.

The other man takes a few moments to open his eyes but once he does, he suddenly seems to tense up. Why would...? Fuck. In all Bellamy worry at Murphy potentially being dead on there bedroom floor he forgot to change out of the towel back into his normal clothes.

The lemur noise returns as Murphy dramatically flops back onto their bed.

"You're so not fair," is all the other man can apparently muster from behind the duvet he has plastered over his reddening face.

Bellamy doesn't think that he's the only one being unfair here as he couldn't quite make it out before but Murphy is just as half naked as he is. Only a pair of tight grey boxers are keeping Murphy's growing problem hidden and the giant black sweater he's pinched is perfectly happy riding its way up to his belly button.

Ever so gently, Bellamy pads across the room and lowers himself next to his hiding boyfriend. This is ridiculous. They are two grown men who have been in a relationship for god knows how many years know. They need to start talking again. Properly. Not just mumbling over the phone because it's easier.

Done with being patient, Bellamy begins to pry Murphy out of his cocoon of shame. Once successful, he wraps his hands around slender wrists and gently guides Murphy back into a sitting position.

Then of course, he loses all the "communication is key" steam and just lets the silence fold over them as Murphy decidedly looks anywhere but at him. He has no idea what to even say.

"I know what I want to do," the words are barely above a whisper but Bellamy feels as if Murphy just screamed them.

Bellamy watches the love of his life intently. Blue eyes finally flicker to his, seemingly glowing in the only bit of lamp light coming from the far corner of the room. He swallows harshly, gaze flickering across Bellamy face like he looking for something with no idea what it is.

So Bellamy communicates. Sort of. Really, a nod will just have to do for now.

Apparently, it was the right thing to do as Murphy eases into action soon after. Using Bellamy's grip on his wrists he guides the professor back until his body hits the mattress.

Bellamy likes that he can feel Murphy's pulse jump against his fingers as blue eyes sweep over the expanse of his chest so he consciously decides to keep them there for whatever is about to happen.

Then Murphy has to go and hook a pale thigh over Bellamy's waist and now it's his hearts turn to skip a beat.

Bellamy's completely stunned. Surely Murphy isn't going to do anything to drastic. But then as their eyes meet, Murphy lowers himself so Bellamy's towelled length is situated right under his own.

"Fuck," Bellamy breathes at the pressure alone, his grip on Murphy's wrists tightening.

"I know," Murphy huffs, his checks pinking up all over again, "is this okay?"

Suddenly plays words, Bellamy's lets his jaw dropper as he nods slowly.

"Good," Murphy blinks, "that's good."

They stay like that for a moment. Murphy drawing in deep breathes as Bellamy begins to loose his. He's gotta be dreaming.

But then as Murphy experimentally rolls his hips Bellamy is affirmed that this is certainly real. The fluffy towel dragging over his dick feels fucking fantastic.

He may as well just cave to the fact that Murphy is always going to make him feel like a teenager all over again. And a good old dry hump is certainly one way to do it.

Murphy hisses in a breath above him, clearly enjoying this just as much as his counterpart.

"Again," Bellamy pants after a moment of deliberation. Murphy is so damn perfect for him that's he's sure he'll understand the command for what it is. Nothing but full support, want and love.

So Murphy does it again. And again. And again. Soon they're both working their way up to half hard and crashing past into about to burst as Murphy's picks up his pace.

"Harder," Bellamy breathes, not taking his eyes off of Murphy's as the other man straddles his legs tighter. The springs if the mattress under them begin to obnoxiously creak and Murphy sucks his lower lip into sharp teeth.

"Perfect," Murphy groans as he effortlessly slides back and forward. Bellamy can't help but mimic the way he bites his lip as his hips start to buck up with a mingle of their own. Searching for better purchase, the professor plants his toes on the floor under his dangling legs and pushes Murphy's arms back so he can twist his fingers in Murphy's sweater as well as pin his clenching fists.

Murphy is the one thats perfect above him. All floppy hair and rugged five o'clock shadow. His arms looks so fragile pinned to his chest by Bellamy's wide hands. Especially in the oversized jumper that's currently riding down over his collarbones. Bellamy wants to taste it but this view is far too good to look away from now. He gets to watch as Murphy's tight black briefs grinds against the towel gradually sliding further and further down his swollen cock. The once soft fabric now feels so coarse against his sensitive skin in the absolute best way. The best part of it all is Murphy's thighs. Although slender, as he works his hips back and forth powerful muscles ripple under pale skin.

Bellamy's doesn't last all that longer under the excruciatingly increasing friction and all it takes is for Murphy to hear the "oh" sound Bellamy makes in the back of his throat as he comes before he's crashing over the edge too.

~

Everything else passes in a whirl wind after that. Before Bellamy's knows it Murphy will happily plant wet open mouthed kisses in his neck and shoulders as they fall asleep. Or slyly pinch his ass as he tries to order a code from their favourite cafe. He even shove his hands up Bellamy's shirt at one of Clarke's dinner parties because "they're cold, you judge little shits."

So Bellamy even starts to reciprocate with things like hour long knuckle massages. Or lazily running his hands up and down Murphy's sides if he stretches his hands over his head to yawn. He even kisses him awake one rainy Saturday which goes spectacularly he must admit.

  
Every now and again Murphy will hint at something more from Bellamy. Wether it's a quick witted dirty joke or a blatant hand job against the dishwasher, Bellamy is happy to oblige. He is perfectly patient in doing anything the man asks because loves him.

He's loves him because he's the only person other than Octavia, and maybe Clarke, that's seen him as something other than the man he pretends to be.

To Murphy, he's just Bellamy. Or more importantly, his Bellamy. He sees him as his man with the nerdy glasses and the brilliant brain and the seasonal freckles and the well of guilt for his mother and the sometimes destructive love for his sister and everything else Bellamy never really thought was worth looking at.


End file.
